Don't Grow Up Angry
by perclexed
Summary: She didn't know what to do with all the emotion just roiling around inside her, so she shoved it aside. Pushed it down, smothered it so she could be there for her mum. My offering for the "Women of the Morseverse" challenge. Thank you to Somniare for the beta, and mrsjohn for the cheerleading. Any mistakes that remain are solely the author's fault.


_"Don't grow up angry, Zoe. It takes so much effort to find your place in the world when you're angry. Believe me," he'd said._

She didn't really understand what he meant until much later. She didn't know what to do with all the emotion just roiling around inside her, so she shoved it aside. Pushed it down, smothered it so she could be there for her mum.

"Alright, Zoe?" her mother would ask.

"I'm fine, mum," she would say.

 _"Sometimes you lie for the best of reasons."_

It would have been so easy to clutch her anger to herself. Nearly her whole life a lie. Zoe shakes her head even now at the hyperbolic statement, because obviously not her whole life, but one of her foundations had turned out to be built on nothing but air. Her mother, an informer for the British secret services during The Troubles. Nearly murdered by her lover but for the luck of other agents who had gotten them out and created entirely new lives for both her and Conlan.

Even now she looks back on that time in her life with an aching sorrow at the loss of so much life. Elmo, his lover and her patroness, not to mention her father. He might have been a rude, brusque man, who was unkind to her mum too often, but he had still been her father. And he'd been proud of her.

She found that when she was alone, crying wasn't really a problem anymore. The fact that her father wasn't around to tease her for her tears only made her cry harder.

Her anger was nearly a living thing, eating her from the inside out. It would manifest abruptly, with little warning. She grew sharp with her mum, weeks after the funeral and all the little rituals that came with death were complete. Her great-aunt Eileen, deliriously happy to have "her Mary" back, trying so hard to make a connection with the grandniece she never knew she had. Zoe wanted to give in, to reach out and be enfolded in the arms of a woman who seemed to have no problem showing her emotion, but her pride wouldn't let her.

"I'm fine, Aunt Eileen. Really."

But bumping into Sergeant Hathaway at the trial was the first crack in the dam she'd built between herself and the horrible, hateful world. She'd tucked her feelings about her former professor, Donald Voss, away, unable to name all the emotions merely thinking of him caused. This man, who had been so kind, so helpful and friendly as she tried to immerse herself in college life, to make a connection to her slightly older peers, to be true to herself without alienating everyone around her.

She avoided Hathaway's penetrating gaze as best she could during the trial. Zoe knew that he was just as, if not more, clever than herself, and that he would see through the facade she'd tried so hard to maintain since she last saw him. She'd done a better job of it during their chess game at the police station, but the dual pressure of 'keeping up appearances' and having to gaze upon the face of her former mentor, the man who had killed her father? It was too much.

The facade crumbled quickly. But it wasn't until she was in the bathroom one evening after a too long day of pretending to be fine, trying to pull a brush through her curls that she just snapped. She could barely see through her tears as she took a pair of dull scissors to her hair, hacking away at the stubborn curls, hearing the whisper of the locks falling into the sink. She felt a curious weight lifting, far heavier than that of her hair against her shoulders, and her tears fell even harder at the last snip of the scissors.

"Zoe! What on earth?" her mother exclaimed from the doorway.

Zoe turned to look at her mother, whose face fell even as she reached out to pull her close. "Oh my darling girl. My darling, darling girl."

Things got better after that. The curious lightness continued long after she and her mum visited the stylist to fix the hack job she'd done on her hair. She sat down with her mum and her aunt and together they made the decision for her to take a year off of school. It's not like she was really losing anything, given how far ahead of her age group she was in her studies, and if ever there was an excuse to take a gap year, murder and espionage was probably one of the best ones.

During the year off, she went traveling with her mum. They did end up going to France after all, and from there they wandered around the continent for six entire months, going wherever whim dictated. She visited many of the great museums, and though it took more courage than she would have thought to spend time in Greece, with Athena everywhere as a reminder of Donald, and her father. Her mum offered to remove her necklace, seeing her distress, but Zoe reached out to take her hand and asked instead to visit the Temple of Athena Nike at the Acropolis.

It helped, more than she could have dreamed. The goddess may have been deprived of her wings on the relief from the parapet, but Zoe felt that she'd scored a significant victory over her sorrow and anger, soaring above the events back in Oxford. Her mum indulged her when they were on the way back to the hotel that evening, and they stopped at a small market pick up a small candle, a small dish, some olives, cheese and olive oil. She even managed to luck out and find a small amount of myrrh incense too.

After a shower, she asked her mum to sit with her on the tiny balcony attached to their room. Zoe never remembered what she said as she lit the incense and made her offerings to Athena. Her mother surprised her, producing a small, finely woven scarf upon which to place her tools with an understanding smile. She did remember the smell of the burning myrrh, and the way the stream of olive oil gleamed in the fading sunlight as she poured the libation into the bowl. She apologised for her meagre offering as she laid out the cheese and olives, but hoped that the goddess understood the intent.

Her mum, sitting opposite with tears trickling down her beautiful face, reached up to unclasp the 'one little bit of Mary' that she hadn't been able to let go of, even after the events in Oxford. "If it's not too much trouble, perhaps you can share your wisdom, and show us the path forward," she said as she let the necklace slip from her fingers to pool next to the libation bowl.

The two women sat for some time, simply enjoying the first real moment of serenity either of them had felt since their lives had taken such a surreal turn. They didn't speak as they finished the business of the day, leaving the offerings on the balcony, but simply embraced before they slipped into their respective beds.

In the morning, the food and the necklace were gone, and with it the last of the bitterness and anger. Zoe tidied away the oil and washed the bowl in the sink before wrapping it in the scarf her mother wordlessly offered and then tucking it away in her luggage. A unique, but meaningful souvenir of their time here, and she knew she would treasure both for as long as they were in her possession.

Zoe left Greece feeling lighter than ever, and genuinely smiled at her mother as they slipped into a taxi on the way to the airport. "Where to next?"

Her mum hummed thoughtfully as she stared out the window. "North? We could do Vienna while it's warm. Maybe head to the Baltics?"

"Hmm. Maybe a bit later? Budapest is on the way," Zoe said. "I hear they have some amazing baths."

"Budapest it is," her mother said, returning her smile.

Aside from bringing her mother and herself closer than ever before, and becoming one of her most treasured memories, the extended continental tour taught Zoe that she had a knack for languages. She'd thought long and hard on this new talent, and upon their return to Oxford, Zoe took a look around the house she'd spent so much time in. "I think we might have outgrown this place, mum," she said. "I was wondering; would you hate me if I investigated Cambridge for my degree? I think I might like to put more of an emphasis on international politics or history, maybe study a language or two as well. Oxford feels… tainted now."

Her mum shook her head. "I think a new city and a new college sounds like a very good idea."

Great-aunt Eileen was only too happy to spend some more time with her beloved family, and packing the house went quickly. Now that Zoe wasn't investing so much energy in keeping the world at bay, and in keeping her anger close, she found spending time with Eileen a priceless experience. She learned how to cry without shame, how to laugh, how to love freely and show the affection in the moment.

As Zoe stood on the doorstep taking one last look around before they locked the door and turned the key over to the agent selling the house, she recalled that moment in the garden with Sergeant Hathaway. Nearly a year later, and she was still healing, but she finally understood what he'd meant by his comment that horrible day.

 _"Don't grow up angry, Zoe. It takes so much effort to find your place in the world when you're angry. Believe me," he'd said._

She resolved to write once she was settled in Cambridge. One of the things she'd saved from her mum's purge of the house was his business card with his phone number and address. If she remembered correctly, he'd mentioned he'd gone to Cambridge that day in the cafe when the police had come looking for Elmo. Perhaps he had some tips for navigating a new college, suggestions on the best bookstores or cafes.

And she thought, just maybe, he might appreciate hearing that he'd made a substantial difference in her life with that one piece of advice.

She might not yet know her place in the world, but she can move forward with a smile on her face and love, not anger, in her heart.


End file.
